Monday, 10 December 2012

Deutsche Kammerphilharmonie Bremen/Järvi - Schumann, 9 December 2012

Großer Saal, Konzerthaus,
Vienna

Symphony no.2 in C major,
op.61

Symphony no.3 in E-flat
major, op.97

Deutsche Kammerphilharmonie Bremen

Paavo Järvi (conductor)

Schumann’s symphonies seem to
me to receive something of a raw deal in terms of concert programming. I cannot
understand why, for the ignorant criticism they endure is not an explanation in
itself; it rather seems to be a manifestation of a deeper problem. Paavo Järvi
and the Deutsche Kammerphilharmonie Bremen have (relatively) recently recorded
all four symphonies; they performed them in Vienna over two concerts, of which
I caught the second.

I doubt that anything will
ever wean me from my preference for a larger orchestra in this repertoire, but
there could be no gainsaying the commitment brought by the Bremen orchestra (strings
10.8.6.6.4), nor their ability to execute whatever Järvi asked of them.
Sometimes the latter proved more convincing than at other times, the opening
Second Symphony proving somewhat mixed, at least to my antediluvian ears. The
introduction to the first movement was wondrous, performed with grave Bachian
beauty and equally impressive inexorability. What followed was alert, sprightly
even, though much of it sounded definitely on a chamber scale. (A fashionable
claim at the moment is to say that this music ‘only works’ when performed with
the meagre number of strings, fewer than here, that Schumann at one point in
his career had to endure.) It was not that Järvi’s reading lacked vehemence,
especially during the development and recapitulation, but that the score’s
Beethovenian inheritance was to an extent dampened – though others will
doubtless retort that this is how Beethoven should be performed too. Balances
were at times odd, especially when the brass blared, but again perhaps that is
the latest ‘authenticke’ fashion; certainly Järvi’s preference for hard
kettledrum sticks is de rigueur in
such quarters. Nervous energy was palpable though.

It was in the scherzo that
the performance became more problematical. It opened in a lively enough,
Mendelssohnian, fashion, very fast.
But weightier matters are, or should be, at stake; this is not A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The first
trio was simply too much of a contrast, often very slow indeed, and pulled around in surprisingly arbitrary
fashion so as quite to exhaust momentum. The scherzo’s reprises were less airy
but mercilessly hard-driven, strings sounding merely thin. However, the second
trio was much better; it flowed and its harmony told. The gently melancholic slow
movement offered a refreshing contrast with a line notably lacking in its
predecessor. A richer orchestral sound would have been a boon, but the chamber
scale did little harm and there were fine woodwind solos to enjoy. The finale
showed that relative lightness of textures need not necessarily lead to
lessening of dramatic tension. Järvi’s reading was fresh, without now falling
into the trap of driving too hard. It certainly did not have anything like the
profundity of a recent performance by Christoph Eschenbach, but on its own terms it convinced. It felt like a finale, though it would
still more have done so had the first two movements sounded as if they had
belonged to the same symphony.

The first movement of the Rhenish Symphony opened with fine
swagger even before the post-interval applause had subsided. Järvi and the
Bremen players offered freshness and
strength, with welcome clarity, not least between brass parts. Though taken
pretty quickly, the music was not harried; it was permitted to relax from time
to time. The horns, moreover, sounded gorgeous when heralding the
recapitulation – and elsewhere. Again, the second movement was on the fast
side, faster than I can recall having heard it, but it also worked on its own
terms; to be fair, it stands in place of a scherzo. It had a splendid sense of
swing to it, and again proved capable of relaxation. I could not help but think
of German woodland in the third movement: a good sign. It proved very much a
woodwind-led movement, which has its advantages and disadvantages, but again
the part-writing was presented with commendable clarity. This may have been a
small orchestra but the ‘Cologne Cathedral’ movement achieved majesty
nonetheless. There was an estimable sense of cumulative power and line was
maintained throughout. Sadly, the finale proved something of an anti-climax,
sometimes hard-driven, sometimes veering dangerously close to the glibly
inconsequential. There was some unduly fussy moulding of phrases too. ‘Excitement’,
it seemed, was being valued over substance. A pity – but at least the memory of
its predecessor was not entirely effaced.